Who Could Learn
by StarWitch
Summary: A view of the castle during Belle's stay from her host, the Beast. Not finished, but it shall come.


Author's Note: This is my gift for you all on my birthday, for putting up with me. I had hoed to put the next chapter up too, but it's not yet ready. This one is for you, Trudi; I told you it was coming! Thank you all and stars bless! -StarWitch

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I have never known this area of France to be so bleak. The fog blurs everything beyond the castle gates so we can hardly see the remainder of the path here. The sense of being trapped, so much a part of our lives these past four years, has grown so that the children cry at night, the Master will not leave his room, and Lumiere and Cogsworth have stopped fighting. Lumiere even has stopped chasing after Babette, the maid who is now a feather duster. He says no one can feel romantic in this mess.

Any romance I found in the fog back home in England is absent in the current soup. All that I find in the gauzy white banks is old memories of times when Alfred and I lived in England, studying the fog from the safety and companionship of our fireplace. It's in this fog when I most miss my dear husband and my old home. France is a lovely country, but some things one simply misses terribly. I even miss the moors in winter!

The children have all received their scrubbings tonight and have settled into their cupboard. I had best take Master Richard his dinner so that I can be nearby when the little ones' nightmares begin. We've all been afflicted so by nightmares since this fog came in, the children worst of all. I'm beginning to fear they'll never sleep. As their nanny (of sorts), I must be close by. Calling Babette and Adeline, the girl who has become a rolling serving tray, I push Cook's newest masterpiece to Adeline and start for the West Wing.

Many of us have come to hate the West Wing, the most frightening part of the castle. I have a rather poor view of that enchantress for changing a place that was so beautiful into such a fearsome place. Adeline especially hates to come here, it scares her so badly, so Babette or I always are coming with her. Our voices echo very strangely in the grand hallways to the Prince's room. I've come to ignore it; it's not so different from the cathedrals in England. Babette dislikes it, but Adeline is always spooked by it and talks about ghosts the Enchantress sent to torment us. I would explain there are no ghosts, but leaving her to think about that keeps her from thinking on how she fears the Master.

We come to the gigantic doors to the prince's room. Adeline falls back behind Babette, who tucks herself behind me. As always, it is my job to knock and tell Richard his supper is here. Babette tends to shake when I call him Richard; Lumiere, Cogsworth, and I are the only ones to call the Master by name. The door opens a crack, revealing a pair of familiar blue eyes. I smile my most cheerful smile.

"Supper looks quite good today, my dear," I tell Richard. "Are you hungry?"

He growls, making Adeline wheel back. Before I can scold him on his manners again, he grabs the tray from the girl's top shelf and shuts the door. Adeline races back for the dumbwaiter to the kitchen. Babette waits to go downstairs with me. She seems to feel uncomfortable with leaving me alone up there. We chatter about the dog's latest accident, about Cook's fit over the firewood, about how Lumiere is remarkably attractive even as a candelabra (although this last bit was from Babette alone). I make my excuses to leave and hurry back to the cupboard. Cogsworth is settled next to the door.

"The children are fine, Mrs. Potts," Cogsworth reassures me. I nod my thanks. Cogsworth suddenly looks very uncomfortable. "Would you like some company for a time?" he asks me.

"No, thank you, dear," I say. Cogsworth has never particularly liked children, but he can be very kind when he feels like it. He nods importantly to me, then hops off the counter and heads for the front hall. He's hardly left when Lumiere appears on the other side of the counter. He gives me one of his dashing smiles and settles next to the cupboard as well. Lumiere is quite good with children. He will be a good father some day, if he should ever settle down. He has joined me on my vigil these past few nights, allowing me to sleep without worrying about the children overmuch. I appreciate his help, but I do not wish to sleep tonight.

I said not only the children have had dreams recently. Mine have been lively, vivid ones since the fog rolled in. Some of these are more memory than dream. The dream of my last day with my dear Alfred, then finding him dead of a wolf attack, for one. I had pled with him not to go after the pack, but he had insisted it was his duty as a woodsman to the prince to deal with the wolves that preyed on the livestock and, once, a child from a nearby village. He had promised me he would come home safely. I wake up with tears in my eyes each time.

Another is my memories of my boys. Not just Chip, although he appears in my dreams so often, playing with the dog and the other children, but I also see Richard as he was as a boy. He wasn't Richard then, but just Richie, a boy just as mischievous and sweet as any I ever met. I see him playing hide-and-seek with a very young Babette, recall his attempts at baking, remember how he tried to act so grown up the few times his parents would let him watch the court or attend a fancy dinner. Sometimes I see him and Chip of an age, laughing together in the best climbing tree in the gardens. This is impossible, as Richard is quite a bit older than Chip, but the rosy view keeps returning to haunt me.

There's only one dream I cannot stand at all, the one I see so often now as we grow closer to Richard's twenty-first birthday. In it I rush down the hall in the West Wing to the Master's room. The great door is open. I enter and see the Enchantress, just as she was that day four years ago. She looks at me coolly, beautiful in her regal green gown, then disappears. A dead rose is left where she stood. I cross to the bed, crushing the rose on the way. On the bed lie my two boys. Chip lies curled into an icy ball, white tear tracks down his cheeks and his mouth open just enough for me to see his chipped front tooth. Next to him lies Richie, our prince as he was when he was a gentle eight-year-old. He stretches out an arm as if reaching for something. His long gold-brown hair blends with Chip's pale blond. They are both stiff and dead.

I resettle myself next to the cupboard. The children are quiet so far. Lumiere is fast asleep. Closing my eyes, I murmur a prayer.

"Good, kind God, Lord of all, do not let the Enchantress take my boys from me."


End file.
